


if there was one thing i could save from the fire

by copperiisulfate



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Missing Scene, Multi, デュラララ!!×２ 承 | Durarara!!x2 Shou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperiisulfate/pseuds/copperiisulfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, he dreams of Saitama.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if there was one thing i could save from the fire

**Author's Note:**

> whimsically written after 2x02, featuring super-vague spoilers from the novels

 

Saki tells him that he might have a problem when his dinner goes cold and has to be reheated the third time that night.

"You're still logged into that chatroom," she laughs, though there's a little weariness creeping into it now.

He looks at her, doesn't say anything, plays with his phone, puts it away, pulls it back out, sighs.

He puts it away.  _Again._

"You can always call them, or even visit. You know that. I'd come with you, if you like, for moral support and all."

Masaomi shakes his head. _Not yet_ , he thinks. Maybe _not ever_ but definitely not yet. It's too soon. It might always be too soon. But this? This is okay. Long-distance surveillance, or whatever it is. He thinks he might as well call it what it is.

His hand's going to his pocket again, feeling for his phone.

(Absently, he hopes they're together, in whichever sense of the word they can afford. Mostly, he just hopes they're not alone.) 

_Coward,_ he thinks, gets up and digs into his cold rice. He forces a smile for Saki, who deserves more than his distracted attention, his sorry excuse for company.

 

*

 

He makes a habit of busying himself whenever Saki turns on the television and tries not to pull out his phone for more than seconds at a time, or at least not until after she falls asleep.

("It's okay," she's told him in the past. "You don't need to--" 

"I know. I'm not," he'd said, reflexively, wondered later why he had. 

She was on his side and, these days, he didn't have much left on his side.)

That night, he goes on to Raira's website, the page for the student council, scans all the names and then smiles, bittersweet, unsure whether it's more bitter than sweet. 

 

*

 

The city lights are always somewhere in the back of his head, except they're more vivid, more tangible, here, in his dreams.

He dreams of sirens and crowds, dreams of trains and traffic lights (and demons and demons _and demons_ ) and days in his classes, faces of people, flashes of places that he barely remembers but seem so bright now in their afterimage.

Sometimes, he dreams of Saitama.

 

*

 

He clicks on _Taro Tanaka,_ opens the private messaging window.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Closes it.

Opens an empty email draft. 

Closes it. 

He half thinks he might be mad enough to commit pen to paper and mail the damn thing out before he chickens out but he can barely manage more than a first name before he feels sick to his stomach.

He has to crumple the torn page from his old notebook and throw it in the general direction of the wastebasket, winds up missing his target and can't be bothered to care.

 

*

 

They come back after a job, separate jobs rather, small-time stuff and the money isn't bad, or better than it's been, at any rate. There's instant ramen for dinner tonight because Saki is talking about saving money even though his head isn't in the game enough to plan beyond a day, let alone a week.

He boils the water, almost on auto-pilot, isn't all that hungry anyway, hasn't really been in a while.

Saki throws a ball of crumpled paper at his head when he sits down and laughs at his confusion.

He begins unfolding it part-way when she says, "Writing love letters, are we?"

And he doesn't need to unfold any further, remembers now, feels his stomach turn.

"Real funny," he says, pockets the paper in his jeans.

 

*

 

Today's job isn't as easy, and Masaomi's pretty damn sure Izaya is planning on getting him killed one of these days, just not quick enough. That wouldn't be fun now, would it? And heaven forbid anyone dare  _bore_ the fucker.

He's made it out from the line of sight of a group of guys twice his size, probably almost twice his age too, as soon as he caught sight of blades glinting in the dim streetlights.

He still keeps a switchblade up his sleeve because old paranoia dies hard and all.

Still, it would hardly have been enough in the face of nearly a dozen thugs. He's out of shape, out of his element now, doesn't know this place at all, can't navigate it with his eyes closed. He also knows that all it would take is one wrong move.

One wrong move and he's as good as dead. 

And well, _fuck that_. He is not allowed to die. Not yet. _Not yet._

 

_*_

 

He smiles for Saki when he gets back. 

"Rough night?" she asks, because she hasn't known him for as long as she has for nothing.

He laughs at that, thinks he might just cry if he'd tried to smile any harder.

"It's all good," he says. "Should be good for another week or so, I think. Might be able to go some place nice for dinner tomorrow."

 

*

 

_Taro Tanaka_  signs into the chatroom.

_Bakyura_  subsequently signs off for the night.

Masaomi exhales, puts his phone away.

He's just buying time. He doesn't know what for, but he is.

There's still that crumpled piece of paper in his pocket, nothing on it but a name.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Richard Siken’s _Saying Your Names_.


End file.
